


let me start by saying

by Jedi Buttercup (jedibuttercup)



Category: The Hitman's Bodyguard (2017)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character(s) of Color, F/M, Flirting, Multi, Post-Movie, Pre-Threesome, Swearing, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Yuletide 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 21:05:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17050562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/pseuds/Jedi%20Buttercup
Summary: Sonia glanced between Darius and the man standing next to him, taking in his smug expression and his companion's whole clean-cut, tight-assed younger man aesthetic, then made an aggravated noise in the back of her throat and swung the door shut in his face.





	let me start by saying

**Author's Note:**

  * For [impertinence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/impertinence/gifts).



> I loved this ridiculous movie, too; hope you enjoy the fic! Titled from a line from Lionel Ritchie's "Hello".

Sonia glanced between Darius and the man standing next to him, taking in his smug expression and his companion's whole clean-cut, tight-assed younger man aesthetic, then made an aggravated noise in the back of her throat and swung the door shut in his face.

"Shit. Sonia!" Darius objected, thrusting his shoe over the threshold to block it. "What the hell was that for?"

He had the gall to sound exasperated about it, like she was the one at fault there. Sonia gave the door an extra slam against his foot for good measure, not that it would do any damage considering it was a cheap piece of shit low-rent hotel door, then let it swing back open, glaring at him.

"What the hell do you think it's for?" She jabbed a finger toward their uninvited guest. "I told you, when you find a boy you want to fuck, you _ask_ me first! Especially when we don't even have the time to enjoy ourselves because we're on the run from assassins! Hijo de puta. Why do you do this to me? What kind of inconsiderate asshole are you, anyway?"

The pretty boy's eyebrows shot up his forehead, and he held his hands palm-out like he thought he was some kind of negotiator. "Whoa. Mrs. Kincaid – I think you might have the wrong idea here."

"Did I ask you, motherfucker?" Sonia replied, eyeing him a little more thoroughly. Honestly, what sort of idea did he expect her to have? He didn't look like the type Darius usually took as an apprentice, who might actually have been useful against the motherfuckers hunting her; a few of _those_ might have been able to afford a suit and watch that expensive, but none of them had ever been that well-groomed. Order didn't tend to survive very long around the force of chaos that was her cucaracha of a husband. She did have to admit, though, he wasn't exactly difficult to look at; another time, she might have been a little more receptive to Darius' impulsiveness.

"No, I asked _you_ ," she continued pointedly, turning back to her husband. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself this time?"

Darius didn't even have the grace to look apologetic; he flashed her that stupid wide grin of his instead. "Surprise, I got you a bodyguard?" he laughed, shrugging. "Not that he probably couldn't _use_ a good fuck, considering the wreck his love life's _still_ in after I went to all the effort to put him back in Agent Roussel's good books, but I do know better than tease you like that, baby."

"A _bodyguard_?" Why the hell would Darius Kincaid, the original unkillable motherfucker, bother hiring a bodyguard? Unless....

Sonia glanced between them again, even more annoyed at the revelation. That wrecking-ball of a trip to The Hague, when Interpol had used her to leverage Darius against Belarusian dictator Vladislav Dukhovich – _this_ was the bodyguard who'd got his sorry ass there in one piece? The one he'd spent several years trying to kill before _that_? That _did_ explain a few things. But it still didn't give him a pass for his presumption. 

"You think that makes it any better? Did you not think that I might want some input in my own protection? If you think you're just going to leave me here while you hunt those pendejos down, no matter _how_ pretty the baby-sitter is, then you better hope I don't get my hands on another machete before I track you down again."

"Are you kidding me? I would never," Darius replied, still laughing. "Just covering all the bases, corazón. Speaking of which. Introduce yourself, motherfucker," he added, elbowing Bryce in the side.

"I think I begin to see how this relationship works," Bryce replied dryly. But he put on a cheerful smile anyway and stepped forward, holding out a hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Kincaid. I'm Michael Bryce, Triple-A Rated Executive Protection Agent."

"If you say so." The earnest ridiculousness of the statement was strangely charming; if he played the straight man like this _all the time_ , no wonder her husband seemed obsessed with messing him up. "Triple-A, pah. You sound like you should be selling insurance. It's okay, you know; you don't have to brag, you can just say you survived my husband."

The way Bryce gritted his teeth as he shook her hand would have made her worry a little about his dental work, but there was a sharp, amused glint in his eye that reassured her he was used to giving as good as he got. "Twenty-nine times, more or less. Though I don't know that I'd say _survived_ , exactly, considering that it's still a work in progress. Endured, maybe? And no, I'm not making it up. Considering making a stamp for the next person who brings it up, actually; but it really is a thing."

"What, like one of those USDA stamps?" Darius snorted as he pushed Bryce further into the room, breaking up their little tête-à-tête. Then he dropped a heavy duffel on the floor by his feet and closed the door behind them. "Man, I'd pay to see that. And I know _exactly_ where you could put it."

"He's looking at my ass, isn't he?" Bryce sighed, casting his eyes dramatically toward the ceiling. "You change a guy's underwear for him once, and you pay, and you pay."

Darius had, in fact, been staring at his ass; not exactly a surprise, given the fit of those slacks. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much," he said, dryly. "I thought you said you never wanted to speak of it again?"

"Did you just say _methinks_?" Bryce fired back, turning to look over his shoulder at him.

"Yeah. It's an archaic way of saying 'it seems to me'," Darius smirked back.

"I _know_ what it means. Just – Shakespeare? Really?" Bryce threw up his hands.

"'Who ever loved that loved not at first sight', isn't that right, baby?" Her husband finally met her gaze again, looking all too pleased with himself.

"So you finally remembered I'm here, did you?" Sonia replied, fighting not to smile as she rolled her eyes at him. One thing about life with Darius: it was never, ever boring. And watching him enjoy himself never got old, even when he was at his most infuriating. "Are you sure you brought him in to be _my_ bodyguard? Priorities, Darius! Did you at least get the rest of the guns that you told me you were going for? I'm sick of this shitty fucking hotel room."

"'Course I did." Darius nodded toward the duffel. "Enough to get us to Bryce's nearest safehouse, and there's a panic room and a whole 'nother armory there to keep you safe until Roussie's people finish connecting the dots for us."

"Well, what are we waiting for, then?" She picked up the shoulder bag she'd left on the bed and checked the knives tucked into her boots and at the small of her back; everything was still in place from when she'd dressed that morning.

Bryce exchanged a glance with Darius, suddenly all business, and gave her a firm nod. "Just a couple of ground rules – not that I expect you to follow them completely any more than he does, but bear with me, okay? If I tell you to do something, I've usually got a good reason; use your seat belt at all times when we're in the car; and stay between me and your husband as much as you can when we're not. I scoped out our extraction route on the way here, but there's no way to completely avoid an ambush, and I'd rather not end this evening with him putting me in the morgue for losing you."

"Bitch, you know I would," Darius agreed with him, then cocked his head toward the door. "Aw, man. I thought we lost these assholes halfway across town."

"Yeah, well, apparently they aren't _that_ amateur," Bryce replied, shaking his head. "Why are they after her, anyway?"

"Let's just say I wasn't working as a waitress in that bar in Honduras because I didn't have the fucking skills or education for anything else," Sonia snorted. "But the fuckers didn't know where I'd gone until fucking _Interpol_ put my name and picture in the news, and they found us there when he took me back for our anniversary. Motherfuckers."

"Enough said, I guess. The pair of you are certainly adept at illustrating the diversity of that word," Bryce replied dryly, then crouched to open the duffel bag. He pulled out an assault rifle, then rezipped the bag and shouldered the straps in one fluid sequence of motions before lifting the rifle into a ready position. Even if she hadn't heard Darius talk up his skills over the years, it would have been obvious he knew what he was doing; by the time an audible knock carried to her ears, he was already braced against the wall next to the door and waving her and Darius into position behind him.

And yes; that was _definitely_ an ass worth staring at. Too bland of an overall package for everyday wear, perhaps; Darius was truly one of a kind. But as an occasional accessory – well. She already had a good idea of her husband's opinion.

"I always wondered," she murmured in his ear as they waited for the first cabrón estúpido to try the door, "how you could have tried to kill _anyone_ so many times and missed. You certainly took your time bringing him to meet me."

Darius chuckled, the sound vibrating through her where they were pressed together. "Yeah, well, you know you're smarter than I am, baby. And as good as he is at what he does? He's thick as a brick when it comes to romance. You up for talking him into it? Say the word, either way."

"What do _you_ think, Darius," she scoffed, amused.

Then the door burst open, and they went to work.

* * *

There was an art to being an unkillable motherfucker: one that, like any other province of great masters, required skills, vision, dedication, and an eye for seeing what no one else could. Sonia had survived enough lesser artists' work by the time she first met Darius Kincaid to see it in him right from the start: his ability to go with the flow, to make the most of every opportunity that came his way, and to create opportunities where they didn't. Michael Bryce was, at first glance, completely different – and yet, it was easy to see, just as gifted in his own right. 

Bryce was smooth precision to Darius' passionate fire as they worked their way through the goons assaulting the hotel: every shot exactly placed, every hitch along the route prepared for, like an extremely violent game of three-dimensional chess. Efficient, focused – and completely in sync with Sonia's husband, never crossing lines of fire or missing a threat to one another. They made a space for her between them without ever discussing it, incorporating her and her knives into their strategy, defending her without ever treating her as helpless; she'd have expected that out of Darius, but Bryce took his cue on that without complaining. 

There were half a dozen bodies on the ground by the time they reached a slate-colored Prius with a key-scratch down the passenger side, parked out in the open near an intersection with a major road. Darius curled his lip at it and held out a hand for the keys – and Bryce yielded on that again, opening the front passenger door for her before sliding into the back and turning to watch out the rear window.

"I wasn't kidding about the seatbelt, you know," he reminded her as Darius started the car, throwing her an amused glance.

"Even though you're not the one driving?" Sonia widened her eyes at him in faux innocence as she obeyed, unable to resist the urge to ruffle his feathers herself; she couldn't let Darius have _all_ the fun.

"Ha, ha. Ask your husband about the road rash I _still_ have from the last time, and then you can talk," he replied. "Like I said, I usually have a reason."

"Yeah, and a stopped clock's right twice a day," Darius snorted, eyes busy scanning the road ahead. "How was I supposed to know you'd forget your own damn rule? ...We lost those guys?"

"Looking good so far – and that's why you're supposed to _always_ be prepared," Bryce snarked back. "Just because _I_ forgot for once doesn't make that any less true."

Darius grinned again at that, flashing a wide, smug expanse of teeth toward the rearview mirror. "I guess I shouldn't be too surprised, since I _am_ the exception to most of your rules."

"Could you sound any more fucking big-headed?" Sonia reached over and delivered a gentle slap to the back of her husband's head. "Consider me duly impressed with your measurements, but I have a more important question to ask right now."

The laughter melted out of his expression in a heartbeat, and he was focused fully on her again, just like that. "What is it, baby?"

She smiled at him, reminded of how much she loved him even when he was at his most annoying – then turned to the back seat again. "So why _didn't_ things work out with Agent Roussel?" Better to know now if it was something that might affect that day's events, on either a personal _or_ a professional basis.

Bryce blinked at her in surprise, then grimaced and turned his attention back to the road. "It's not that it's _not_ working out, exactly. Whatever he says, I'm not _that_ much of a fuck up. Amelia's just... taking it slowly, this time. One or two evenings and sometimes mornings a month, non-exclusive, kind of slowly. She says I'm charming, and she's sure I mean well, but she's not ready to invest that much of her time and energy in me again. Even if I _have_ mostly switched over to celebrity protection."

"Well, can you blame her?" Darius scoffed, then turned to Sonia. "I told him, there's not a woman in the world who'll put up with his shit long-term. Especially after he blamed her for what _I_ did. And did he cut ties with me and blame _me_ for ruining his life when he found out the truth? No, he did not; he took a bullet for me, right there in front of her. Woman's got a right to object to such a blatant double-standard, am I right?"

"You're cute," she told him, tapping his chin with her forefinger. Then she raised her eyebrows at Bryce. "Well?"

Bryce sighed, aggrieved, half his attention still out the back window. "I did apologize for that shit already. And to be fair, I _did_ abandon him in the clock tower and shit-talk him to the nearest bartender for several minutes after he told me, before the blatant ineptitude of his escape offended my professional sensibilities to the point that I couldn't ignore it any more. Don't let Darius fool you into thinking he's _that_ special; Amelia's definitely an angel I don't in any way deserve."

"Well, we'll just have to agree to disagree about Darius," Sonia chided him, then grinned. "But... one or two evenings and sometimes mornings a month is a good schedule for you? That sounds... promising."

She let her voice curl warmly under the last few words, and was gratified by the double-take he gave at the blatant hint.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Bryce yelped, eyebrows raising as the seriousness behind the flirting began to sink in.

"Why the fuck would I? If Darius can kill a man through a tiny window from three hundred yards, then how the fuck did he always miss you? _Twenty-eight times_. He tells me everything; I know exactly how many times he was shot, and how many times you weren't. Now ask yourself how many of those jobs he took _because_ he knew they were the kind of rich fucker who could afford your contract." She smirked at him as his jaw dropped. "So yes, I want to see my husband wreck you. And maybe find out what else that tongue of yours is good for. Unless you have better things to be doing?"

He swallowed hard, eyes darkening as he groped for an answer – and of course it was at that exact moment that the men hunting them finally caught up with them again, swerving through the following traffic and unleashing a hail of bullets at the back window of the car.

In half a second, he was back to being her husband's deadly equal, returning fire and pulling a grenade from somewhere to hurl through the open window of the enemy's car as it pulled up alongside; but that was all right, it would give him a little time for the offer to sink in before they arrived somewhere they could actually do something about it.

"Motherfuckers," Darius snarled, jerking the wheel sharply as he cut the other way across traffic – but he spared a second to drop a hand on her knee, and send her a glance full of warm, conspiratorial promise.

No, life with Darius had never been boring – and she wouldn't exchange it for all the world.


End file.
